


The Thing about Apples and Trees

by Cdelphiki



Series: In For a Pound [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: When Jason agreed to let Bruce adopt him, he thought that meant Jason felt happy and safe in Bruce's home. But when Jason's nightmares only increased, and his panic attacks and meltdowns started happening more often, Bruce was at a complete loss for what to do. But then, Jason finally opened up to him, and he was able to quell some of Jason's worse fears.  Perhaps a midnight chat and a few hugs wouldn't fix everything, but it was a step in the right direction.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: In For a Pound [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334581
Comments: 51
Kudos: 1069





	The Thing about Apples and Trees

Bruce had thought Jason was doing better. When they started the adoption paperwork and Jason _finally_ admitted to feeling safe. To _knowing_ he was safe, Bruce thought that would be the upswing. The next step toward Jason healing and being happier.

In many cases, it was. Jason _did_ smile more. Run around the manor and make his presence known. The number of times he skipped into the room just to torment the occupants increased tenfold. Dick, most recently, had been the primary target of his taunting. 

Aside from occasionally reminding Jason not to be _too_ mean, Bruce hadn’t needed to intervene there. Dick took it in stride, and typically dished out as much as he took. 

But with the happier moods came harder crashes. Lower lows. Tantrums and bad moods.

Honestly, it was a little bewildering to Bruce. In a way, Jason seemed to be getting worse, not better. And when he started school in January… 

Well.

School tended to wear Jason out. And when he was exhausted, he became moody. Every little thing that would typically make him scowl or retreat to his room for a little while triggered full on tantrums. 

Things like being startled, seeing anger in an adult, or simple misunderstandings caused full on meltdowns, and they were averaging at least three a week, at that point. 

Bruce wasn’t sure what to do about it. He tried talking to Jason. Multiple times. 

But every time he did, Jason would brush him off, or go off into another mini-tantrum about the entire topic. He did _not_ want to talk about it. Reminding Jason of any of his ‘episodes’ never did anything but set the boy off, and Bruce felt a little helpless.

Jason needed professional help to find coping mechanisms for dealing with his emotions and past trauma. 

But mentioning that to Jason usually only earned Bruce more ire. 

So Bruce was taking it one day at a time. Maybe as Jason continued to settle in at school, he’d eventually calm down and relax, more. Learn to handle his emotions. 

It was all Bruce could hope.

With Jason’s frayed emotions came more nightmares. At least, Bruce felt like Jason’s nightmares were increasing in frequency. So far Jason had never come to his room to wake him or to talk to him over the comms after one, like Damian typically did, but Bruce had found him awake and elsewhere in the manor enough times after patrol to put two and two together. 

That’s why it came as no surprise when one night in mid February, Bruce heard Jason deep in the throes of a bad dream. 

Well, he assumed that was what was happening.

Because when Bruce got back from patrol, he poked his head into Damian’s room, then walked further down the hall to Jason’s, to at least listen at the door. Most nights, if it sounded silent inside, he’d try the handle and silently open it, if unlocked, to get a look at Jason’s sleeping face. But that night, it wasn’t silent inside. 

No. 

Inside, Bruce could clearly hear Jason crying. 

“Jay,” he said softly, lighting knocking on the door before he slowly pushed the door open, “Jaylad, what’s wrong?”

Despite Bruce entering Jason’s room fully, he didn’t stir from his sleep. Which was indicative to how deep into the dream Jason was. 

Even though Bruce _knew_ Jason trusted him, he still got a little funny when it came to Bruce entering his room. He was cool with people coming in, of course. His door was rarely locked anymore, specifically so people could enter without making him get up. 

But that didn’t mean Jason was completely, entirely relaxed. It broke Bruce’s heart, a little, every time Jason displayed any level of hyper-vigilance around him. 

They’d get there. 

One day. 

Either that day was today, or Jason was so trapped in his nightmare, not even someone entering his safe space was enough to stir him. 

Jason pulled his covers up over his head and let out a terrified whimper as he clearly tried to stifle his crying. “I’m sorry,” Bruce heard him mumble, “ _please,_ I’m-“ 

When Jason choked off with another sob, Bruce found himself rushing across the room and kneeling down next to Jason. Wanting nothing more than to wake Jason and pull him from his dream. Save him from the terror and pain he was experiencing.

Or re-experiencing…

This child needed so much help and support. It hurt _Bruce_ to realize just how hurt he’d been.

“Jay,” he said, pulling the blanket off Jason so he could see his boy’s face, “Jay, son, wake up.” 

“ _I’m-“_ Jason gasped, pulling away from Bruce’s hand, “Dad, please. I’m-I’m-” 

“Jay,” Bruce said, much louder, this time shaking Jason a little, trying to wake him, “Jason, it’s Bruce. You’re okay, it’s Bruce.” 

It took a little longer for Jason to finally _finally_ come to, but after an agonizing minute, during which Jason continued to blubber his apologies, Jason’s eyes shot open.

Wild, unfocused eyes darted around before landing on Bruce, and once they did, Jason flew backward, nearly off the edge of the bed as he tangled himself up in his blanket. 

“Jay,” Bruce said, reaching forward and then stopping himself, out of fear he’d scare Jason further, “Jay, buddy, it’s just me. Are you okay?”

Jason seemed to finally take a good look at Bruce, and once he did, his face relaxed. Bruce barely had a second to appreciate the way all trace of fear vanished from Jason upon recognizing him before Jason was launching himself at Bruce, crying, “Bruce,” as he did. 

Bruce stumbled back, barely catching Jason, blanket and all, as the boy wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck and started absolutely _sobbing_ into Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Jay,” he said, landing on the ground with all the grace of a drunk pigeon. Scooting himself up against the wall behind him, he repositioned Jason so he was cradled in his arms, held closely like the precious child he was. Jason never allowed Bruce to just _hold_ him, so Bruce was going to cherish this. It was clear Jason needed it, too. 

Running a hand through the back of Jason’s hair, Bruce kept up a mantra of, “It’s okay, lad. It’s all right. It was just a dream.”

They sat there for a long while. Jason cried himself out after about ten minutes, but didn’t budge or attempt to sit up once he’d finally stopped. Bruce would hold him forever, if he wanted. If he needed.

So Bruce sat. 

He wish he’d known more about Jason’s early years. Known more about his relationship with his mother, for instance, to know if he had _experience_ with receiving comfort from a parent. Or if he’d just been so scarred by his father’s mistreatment and his life on the street that it was now difficult for him to _accept_ comfort like this.

Because as soon as Jason calmed down enough to start thinking again, he mumbled, “I’m too big for this, you know.”

“You fit fine,” Bruce replied, tightening his arms and resting his chin on the top of Jason’s head. 

“I’m too _old,”_ Jason corrected, but didn’t attempt to free himself from Bruce’s arms. 

“No you aren’t.” In Bruce’s opinion, he would never be too old. 

Although he hoped Jason at 38 wouldn’t _need_ this kind of comfort. Surely they’ll figure out how to help him by then. 

Hopefully, they’ll figure out how to help him _this year._ Bruce hated seeing Jason hurt so much. 

Jason huffed out an exasperated grunt, so Bruce asked, “Do you want me to put you down?”

Instead of answer, Jason turned his face further into Bruce’s shirt. 

“Didn’t think so,” Bruce said, suppressing his smile, “I won’t tell the kids at school if you’re worried about your tough-guy reputation.”

That made Jason smile. He was fairly certain. Because Jason brought one of his hands up to cover his face more, even though it was still buried in Bruce’s shirt. And when he spoke, Bruce could hear the hint of amusement. “I don’t have a tough-guy reputation.”

“Oh? What’s your reputation then?”

“I’m the new kid,” Jason said with a shrug, sitting up a little to rest back against Bruce and just chat, “I don’t have one.” After a moment, he added, “They all know I’m a foster kid, though.”

Dick had had the same problem, when he first started at Gotham Academy. All the children _knew_ he was ‘just’ a foster child. Not one of the ‘actual heirs.’ 

Never mind Bruce had already written Dick into his will. That didn’t matter.

But Dick’s personality won everyone over. It was difficult to dislike Dick, after all. He was such a pleasant chid. A happy child with an infectious grin, who loved making other people smile.

At least, that was the side of Dick everyone outside the house saw. He tended to only throw his fits and have his meltdowns at home. Get angry and flip out. 

Kind of like Jason now…

“The adoption will be final soon enough,” Bruce settled on saying. There wasn’t much he could do to help Jason fit in. He’d have to figure that out on his own. 

Sure, Bruce could intervene if bullying or anything bad happened, and he’d even pull Jason out to homeschool if he _wanted,_ since he’d done so well homeschooling already, but otherwise? Jason would have to figure it out. 

Maybe that meant he’d go through school without friends. Maybe it wouldn’t. They’d just have to see. 

Jason pulled at his blanket, so Bruce helped him get it untangled and draped over him more comfortably. Once it was, Jason snuggled back against Bruce a little more and set his own arms over Bruce’s. 

Apparently they were going to sit there for a while. 

Too bad they weren’t sitting in a chair, rather on the hard floor. It’d be far more comfortable. 

But it was fine. Maybe this meant there’d be a next time. And it could be in a chair. 

“Want to tell me what this is all about?”

Sighing, Jason turned back around, so his side was pressed up against Bruce and his head was leaning against Bruce’s chest. It took him a minute, but eventually he answered, “I had a bad dream.”

Which, obviously. Bruce had already deduced that. But Jason didn’t typically _admit_ to having them, regardless of how obvious it was. So progress, Bruce supposed.

“What was it about?”

“My dad,” Jason sighed, pulling at the corner of his blanket so he could start toying with it, “What else.”

There were a ton of things Jason could have nightmares about, Bruce was sure. He hated that it _always_ seemed to be his dad tormenting him, though. Perhaps it was him being in a family-unit again dredging up all those memories. 

Bruce really hoped not.

He didn’t want the other traumas Jason experienced to come back for him, too. But he was afraid that would happen, one day. Jason needed to work through it all, after all.

Then again, perhaps Jason only felt comfortable talking about his dad, and so only discussed that with Bruce. That…

Bruce _really_ hoped not. 

“I’m sorry you went through that, Jay,” he said, wrapping his arms around Jason again and resting his head back in Jason’s hair. When Jason didn’t push him away or reposition, himself, Bruce added, “I hate that he still haunts you.” 

“It’s whatever,” Jason mumbled, still picking at his blanket. 

Not knowing quite how to respond to that, Bruce just planted a kiss into Jason’s crown, then went back to holding him tight. It _wasn’t_ just ‘whatever,’ but any attempt he made at telling Jason it was _trauma_ and not something to dismiss as ‘just life’ was usually met with a meltdown. 

Jason hated it when Bruce suggested professional help.

One day. One day Bruce would get him into therapy.

“You know the phrase ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’” Jason asked, a few minutes later. He sounded _exhausted._ Exhausted and devastated, if Bruce thought hard enough. 

“Yeah…” Bruce said slowly. Because he already hated where Jason was going with this.

“I’m gonna be just like him aren’t I?” he asked, his voice so shaky, it was clear he was barely holding himself together, “I get so angry so quickly and- and-“

“And you don’t lash out at people,” Bruce interjected, before Jason could finish that thought. Because Jason was absolutely _not_ abusive. Angry? Yes. But Jason had plenty of things to be angry about. And his anger almost always came from being unable to handle his own emotions. He got scared, and that triggered anger. Or upset, or frustrated, or overwhelmed. He _rarely_ got angry on its own. And he never ended up at rage.

Yes. Jason threw tantrums. Yes. He threw things around when the fit was exceptionally bad, but never _once_ had he done anything that could hurt someone. Not even when Bruce had to physically restrain him had Jason even attempted to hurt Bruce. 

“Well no,” Jason said, a little shakily, “but he didn’t always, either.”

Which was a fair enough point, but not enough to convince Bruce Jason would ever end up anything like Willis. 

Jason had far too much compassion. Too much love and respect for the people around him. Too much empathy for those hurting. He couldn’t see Jason ever doing anything to purposely hurt anyone.

Perhaps his father’s problem had been alcoholism. Based on tiny tidbits Bruce had heard from Jason, things like “but he was drinking so I left the house,” it seemed to Bruce that alcohol had often been a factor. 

If that were the case, alcoholism _could_ be genetic, but that would be a bridge they’d cross when they came to it. Drinking age was 21. Jason had no business trying it before then. Maybe Bruce could even enforce that… 

They’d have to talk about it long before then. Just not now. Not at 12. Not when the trauma was so fresh and so painful.

And most certainly not while his son was worried about turning out like his abusive biological father. 

“If you ask me,” Bruce said, trying to sound as calming and comforting as possible, “I think that phrase is dumb. Apples rarely stay under the tree where they fall.”

When all Jason did was let out a huff, Bruce elaborated, “And most the time, apples don’t even fall. They’re picked.” 

That gave Jason pause. Just barely. “Yeah,” he agreed, furrowing his brow, a little. Clearly ready to hear Bruce out.

“And they’re taken far away from the tree. And they realize their full potential then, don’t they? By becoming pies and candy apples and…” what else were apples turned into? “Apple jelly. But they bring joy to those around them, right? Not pain?” 

Jason sounded even less sure this time, but he responded, “Yeah,” again. Maybe Bruce took the metaphor too far.

“Much more than that rotting apple that fell under the tree.”

“I guess,” Jason said slowly. “But what if I’m the rotting apple under the tree?”

“You aren’t, lad,” Bruch soothed, giving him a squeeze, “You didn’t fall, Jason. You got picked. You’re far away from that tree, and now you’ll be able to finish ripening here. Finish growing up and finding out who you are, without that tree—your dad—to influence you.”

“Maybe.” 

“Not maybe,” Bruce asserted, shaking Jason a little as he did, “ _Really.”_

“Did you get picked?” Jason asked, a minute later, “After your parents, you know?”

Bruce had never thought about it, to be honest. He always hoped he could be as great as his dad, one day. As kind as his mother. 

He’d probably missed that mark by a long-shot… His methods for helping Gotham were far more violent than either of them would have ever approved of. 

But Alfred approved. Even if he sassed him. Even if he complained about Bruce’s lack of ‘self-preservation’ and excessive injuries, Bruce knew he was proud. Alfred didn’t say it often, but Bruce could see it. 

And for as much Bruce loved his parents. Missed them. Wished they had never left him. Alfred had been there for him since he was _eight._ Considering he was thirty, now, that was a good majority of his life. Alfred was just as much his dad as Bruce was for Jason. 

“I guess you could say that,” Bruce said, “Alfred picked me.”

“Is that why you picked us?”

Perceptive little punk. 

Because, yes. Bruce had seen himself in Dick that night, all those years ago. He’d seen himself and seen the future that boy was going to have and decided he could do something about it. He couldn’t be Dick’s father. He couldn’t replace and fix everything Dick lost, but he could be _something._ He could be _there._ Just like Alfred had been there for him. 

But, Bruce wasn’t sure _why_ he brought Jason home that night. All logic should have dictated Bruce take Jason to a shelter. To the police station. _Somewhere_ safe where he’d be fed and cared for. _Not_ his house. But maybe Selina was right. Bruce had known, in the very instance he first set eyes on Jason, that Jason was meant to be his son. 

Bruce kind of liked thinking about it that way. 

He couldn’t imagine his life without Jason. Had he not brought him home, all those months ago, his life would be so much worse off. And not to mention where Jason’s life would be…

Regardless of the reasoning. Bruce was glad Jason was there. “I love you, Jason.” 

“Yeah?” Jason said, tipping his head down to hide his smile from Bruce. 

Jason had been in the habit, lately, to announce “slander” whenever Bruce told him he was loved. It was amusing. Usually made Bruce smile, because he could tell Jason wasn’t actually doubting him. But he must not have been in the right mood to joke around.

“Yeah,” Bruce confirmed, hugging Jason a little tighter as he planted a kiss on his cheek, “Of course. It’s impossible not to.” 

“I-“ Jason said, his breath stuttering as he tried to speak, “I love you, too.” 

Bruce was _so glad_ this child existed.

They stayed sitting there for a long time. Long after Bruce had squeezed Jason one more time. Long after Jason relaxed and closed his eyes. Bruce was just waiting for Jason to fall asleep, maybe drifting a little, himself, despite how uncomfortable he was on the ground, when Jason’s voice startled him back awake. 

“What was your dad like?”

“Hm,” Bruce started, shifting a little as he woke back up. If Jason weren’t ready to sleep, that was fine. Bruce would talk with him, then. “I was eight when he died, so I don’t have many solid memories of him. He was a pretty busy man.”

“Oh,” Jason said, tightening his arms around Bruce’s in a way that made Bruce smile. Perhaps Jason wasn’t so bad at the affection, after all. 

“He was serious,” Bruce continued, “I remember that. Serious and a bit strict.” Bruce could remember being yelled at many times. Father had never been abusive. Never been neglectful, but he had expectations. And Bruce sometimes wondered how his father could have been so strict. “Maybe too strict.”

Then again. Maybe Bruce was just too lenient. 

“I thought the world of him, though. In my eyes he was the greatest man to ever live.” 

“Was he?” Jason asked, his voice quiet and curious. 

“No, of course not.” Bruce had met many men over the years he’d count as ‘good.’ And a couple he’d argue were among the best. It was hard to know someone like Clark Kent and then suggest his own father was the greatest man to ever live. “But he was a good man. I still miss him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. And yep. Bruce loved this child. 

“It’s okay,” he said, patting at Jason where his arms were still wrapped around him, “I have my memories of him. Want to know my favorite?”

When Jason nodded, Bruce said, “It’s perhaps a little morbid, but it was the movie we went to see, the night he and Mom were killed.”

That got Jason’s attention. For a second. He looked up at Bruce, his brows knit before he hummed. 

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed, “I had been wanting to see that movie so bad. And Dad got us tickets as a surprise for me. He took the evening off and took us, as a treat. He hadn’t spent much time with us in a few weeks so I was very excited. I sat right between him and Mom and they bought me popcorn and everything. It was the best.”

“That sounds nice.”

It was nice. He needed to do things like that with his kids. They didn’t get out near enough. “I need to take you to a movie sometime. Just us two.”

“Yeah?”

“Or a play.” Jason would love that, Bruce was sure. More often than not when Bruce caught him watching youtube, it was Broadway numbers. He was confident Jason would _adore_ going to the theater. Even if it were just Gotham’s. 

Although, they could certainly go to New York. “Whatever you want.” 

Bruce could hear the smile in Jason’s voice, even as he tiredly said, “I’d like that.”

“Do you have any good memories with your dad?” Bruce asked. Maybe it would help him, to think of good times. To remember good times. If he could think of ways his dad wasn’t all bad, maybe he could see positive ways it was okay to be like him. 

When Jason spent an entire minute in silence, Bruce started to think maybe not. Maybe Bruce was way off with this. 

Because what if he had no good memories? What if every single memory of Willis Todd was negative, and Bruce was making him think through everything? 

He was definitely way off, and probably just traumatizing his kid more by asking such a stupid question.

But then Jason nodded and took a shuddery breath. “Yeah,” he said, snuggling against Bruce as he spoke, “When I was seven, I think. Maybe eight. We went to a Knight’s game.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, “It was fun. I’m pretty sure he stole the tickets, cause Mom had been mad at him for taking me, but he yelled at her I was his kid and he would do what he wanted. But no one caught him and we stayed for all nine innings. It was the year we beat Metropolis, remember that?”

“I do. I was at that game.”

That got Jason to look up at him, a small smile plastered on his face. “Really?” he asked, and Bruce couldn’t resist smiling back.

He remembered that game vividly. “Yeah, I took Dick. Lois and Clark came with us, since they’re from Metropolis, you know.” It had been one of the first things they did, as Father and Son, him and Dick. Clark tagging along had been icing on the cake for Dick. Bruce had been a little annoyed, at first, at the idea of inviting him along to his and Dick’s first baseball game, but in the end they’d had a blast. 

They needed to do it again sometime. With Damian and Jason, this time. 

It was crazy to think Jason was at that game, too, all those years ago. Somewhere among the stands. His future son. 

How many other times had they crossed paths?

“Oh,” Jason said, snuggling back down again, “Clark isn’t Superman is he.”

“He is.”

Jason nodded against him and said, “I thought so.”

Of course he did. Jason was ridiculously smart. 

“So you stayed for all nine innings?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, smiling again, “and we got shirts and hot dogs and nachos. It was really fun. Dad didn’t get mad at all the whole time.”

“That sounds nice.” 

Nodding again, Jason turned further into Bruce’s chest. He sat there, for a long minute, thinking about what, Bruce had no idea. But after a minute passed, he turned his head out and asked so quietly, so tentatively, “You really think I won’t end up like him?”

Dead in jail? Of course not. 

As far as Bruce was concerned, Jason was already nothing like his father. 

“I think you are a sweet caramel apple, destined for so many great things.”

“Like what?” 

“Well,” Bruce said, shifting Jason so they were looking at each other, “that’s really up to you, now isn’t it?” When all Jason did was smile, Bruce bounced him a little, then sobered.

Because they _really_ needed to talk about something, and he already knew Jason wasn’t going to take it well.

“But hey, you know something that will really help you?” 

“What?” Jason asked skeptically, looking Bruce’s face up and down. Bruce could feel him start to close in on himself again, and he just knew they were either headed toward meltdown or tantrum. 

He wasn’t sure which he preferred. 

“Listen,” he started, combing a hand through Jason’s bangs, pushing his curls back away from his face, “I will never make you, okay? It will be entirely your choice, but I think seeing a therapist could really help-“

“No,” Jason snapped, scowling at Bruce, “I’m not _broken.”_

“Jason,” Bruce started, but then paused. Furrowed his brow. Replayed what Jason had said. 

“Just because I have nightmares,” Jason ranted, as he threw the blanket off himself to stand up, “Doesn’t mean-“

“Jay,” Bruce interrupted, wrapping his arms around Jason again, preventing him from getting to his feet, “Hey, whoa there. I didn’t say you were broken.”

Has that been the issue, this entire time?

This _whole_ time, has Jason been thinking therapy was a bad thing? Was a sleight against him?

“No,” Jason said bitterly, crossing his arms, but not fighting against Bruce’s hug, “You just think I’m crazy.” 

Yep. This entire time.

Bruce has not done a good enough job explaining himself, has he? 

“Do you think _I’m_ crazy?” he asked. He wasn’t sure how Jason managed to miss Bruce’s therapy appointments. Sure, he didn’t go weekly anymore, usually more on a monthly basis, but he still _went._ Hadn’t he been open about where he was going? 

Must not have been…

“What?” Jason asked, now confused. 

“Me, Jason. Do you think I’m crazy? Broken?” 

“I think you’re a jerk.” 

“That’s probably true, but I’m not broken, right?”

“No,” Jason huffed, “What’s your point?”

“I go to therapy, Jason.”

Jason pushed at Bruce’s arms, forcing him to loosen his arms enough for Jason to whip around. Once he finally was looking Bruce straight in the eyes, he asked a little loudly, “ _You?_ But why?” 

“I’ve had a lot of bad things happen to me, too.” 

“Oh,” Jason said, blinking hard before he looked down, “I- I guess.” 

“But hey,” Bruce said, placing his hands on either side of Jason’s face, encouraging him to look back up, “Therapy isn’t a bad thing. It doesn’t say anything bad about us. Or anything good about us. Therapy is a tool. Think, like a heat compress, yeah?”

Jason scrunched his face at Bruce, a little, as if to say ‘no, what are you on about,’ but Bruce kept talking before he could object. 

“When we push ourselves too far, and over-do it, and all our muscles ache, what do we do? We lie on the couch and put a heat compress on the sore, aching muscle and let it work and make us feel better. That’s what therapy is, Jason. When we over-do it, or just have a lot of things happen, or are struggling with nightmares or flashbacks or panic attacks, we go to the therapist, and we talk to her. We figure out what’s triggering everything, and we figure out how to handle it. She teaches us ways to cope, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Wouldn’t she be more like a doctor, then?” Jason said, almost a little petulantly, “because she’s just telling you how to fix it, not actually fixing it.” 

Even if Jason was trying to be argumentative for the sake of it, Bruce couldn’t help but smile. Because at least Jason was _getting it._

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. She’s like a doctor for our mind.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jason said, “Whatever.” But he didn’t try to free himself from Bruce’s hands, and didn’t protest when Bruce pulled him in further for a hug. 

“I won’t force you, okay lad?” 

In response, Jason actually put his arms around Bruce, offering one of his rare hugs. He hesitated, but the fact he did it was all that mattered to Bruce. 

When Bruce could feel Jason’s weight sag against him, he realized they must have been sitting there for well over an hour. Possibly pushing two. It was probably 4am, at that point. 

Poor kid had to be exhausted. 

“Why don’t we go on to bed,” he whispered, helping Jason up to his feet so he could finally, _finally_ stand, “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Bruce, but for once, it wasn’t in a ‘I don’t trust you, whats your ulterior motive’ kind of way. It was more like he was trying to figure out why Bruce would even ask. And whether he wanted to take him up on the offer. 

“You don’t have to,” he explained, “but I know the other boys sleep easier in my room, after nightmares.”

“Why would that work,” Jason scoffed, but still hadn’t made any move toward his own bed. There was no way Jason hadn’t noticed Damian sleeping in Bruce’s room, sometimes. 

Heck, when they’d gone on vacation, a couple months back, Damian had ended up in Bruce’s room at the hotel. Despite having picked a suite specifically so each boy would have their own bed. 

Bruce just shrugged. “It helps me, too, after nightmares, to have one of my kids close. It helps me find peace, knowing you guys are safe. I assume they find peace and feel safer, having me close, too.”

“Oh,” Jason said, looking down at his hand to pick at his sleeve a little, “You have nightmares?”

“Of course.”

Jason nodded, and after a second, he said, “I can try.”

And Bruce tried not to cheer visibly. Every little step Jason took, every display of trust made Bruce want to celebrate. 

One day, maybe Jason would even celebrate with him. 

For right then, though, Bruce just led Jason to his room and pulled back the covers for him, before climbing in on the other side. 

Jason crawled under the covers, then snuggled himself down on the pillow opposite Bruce, then pulled the blanket up to cover most of his face, so only his eyes were showing. 

“Cozy?” Bruce asked, brushing his hair back, off his forehead, so he could plant a kiss right there. Jason’s eyes crinkled, at that, and he nodded. “Good. Sleep tight, my apple.” 

“Bruce,” Jason groaned, flinging his head back dramatically. 

Bruce just smiled, and said, “I love you,” as he lay down himself, ready to get probably not even four hours of sleep. 

Parenting...

“You’re the worst. Stop spending time with Dick.”

“Tell him I can make bad jokes. He won’t believe you.” 

Jason laughed, a silent, breathy laugh, then rolled over so his back was facing Bruce. Once he got himself comfortable, he paused and said, “You really think therapy could help with my nightmares?” 

“It helps with mine,” Bruce confirmed. Which wasn’t a lie. Even if he didn’t originally go for nightmares, he doesn’t have them near as often now. He hadn’t fully realized how badly his sleep was plagued with them, until he started talking about them. 

“Okay,” Jason said, and Bruce knew that was as positive a response he’d get from Jason on the topic. 

Reaching out to rub Jason’s arm, just enough to let him know he was there, and he was _proud,_ Bruce said, “Okay,” and let the conversation end there. 

His boy was _definitely_ doing better. Even if he had his moments, and threw his fits, six-month-ago Jason would have never agreed to let Bruce anywhere near him in his sleep. 

Hell, Bruce wasn’t sure _three-month-ago_ Jason would have, for that matter. 

Even if he didn’t cuddle up close, like Dick or Damian always did, he still relaxed right next to him, and drifted off to sleep rather quickly. And when they woke in the morning, several hours past breakfast, he seemed more rested than Bruce had seen him in weeks. 

Maybe now, with the promise of giving therapy a shot, they’d continue working toward ‘better,’ and one day, they’d look back and realize it’d been months since the last meltdown. The last panic attack. The last nightmare. 

Bruce looked forward to that day. 

Jason deserved to live a life free from the demons in his past. Far away from the tree that was his father. And Bruce was willing to do anything to make sure that happened. 

With Jason’s work, it wasn’t even that far off of a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! I said I was going to post this two weeks ago, but then never finished it. Hahah But here we are! I did not reread the final 3k words and I don't want to. So just have it. LOL 
> 
> ALSO!!!! If you haven't seen on Tumblr, I have big news. I AM MOVING!!!! I got a new job in another state, and so the next couple months (still don't know my start date) are going to be INSANE for me. I have so much to do, holy cow, it's making me anxious just thinking about it. 
> 
> As a result, I will not be starting the Tim & Cass fic, just yet. I may start posting one of my other longfics, just because I have a couple stories with a lot already written so I wouldn't even have to do anything to post, but I haven't decided yet. I just can't commit to writing weekly, right now. Once I'm moved and settled, the Tim & Cass fic is my plan! I don't have the outline done, but I have a really big portion of it done. Thanks for hanging in there. Hopefully I won't leave y'all hanging too long. 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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